


Legacy

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Blaine reminisces at Dalton.





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Blaine's feet crunched through the snow as he walked across the empty Dalton grounds. 

Hands tucked in his coat pockets as he ducked his head against a biting wind, he trudged along the snow-dusted sidewalk until he reached the main door, pulling it open with a mittened hand and stepping inside carefully.  The air inside was instantly warmer, homier, and he let out a sigh of relief as he unwound the scarf from his neck, tucking it in one of the deep coat pockets.  As soon as his gloves were off and the snow stamped from his boots, he turned right and walked the length of the hallway, feeling a mellow sort of solitude descend over him.

He'd chosen to come alone even though Kurt had offered to accompany him.  He wasn't sure why he'd wanted to visit at all except that he had felt compelled to see it again.  It had been years since he had walked these empty hallways, and longer still since he had stood among the Warblers, immersed in the ranks and the heart of their activities.  At the time, he had pushed all thoughts of the future aside and basked in the present, choosing instead to focus on the next rehearsal he had to attend.  The contrast between his younger self and his current one was stark, but there was a familiarity in the rooms he passed that still made his heart ache with longing.

Among other things, the big red armchairs in the lobbies reminded him of Hogwarts, as did the broad fireplaces at the center of each study area.  The round tables in different atriums were so familiar that he could scarcely look away from them when he passed, recalling hours spent studying at them with only a coffee for company.  His mind conjured a thousand walks along these hallways, even recalling the first weeks when Dalton had seemed more prison-like than homey, full of people he couldn't fully trust and routines he hadn't learned yet.  It hadn't taken long before that changed -- Wes and David were nothing if not persistent -- but it sobered him to remember a younger Blaine smiling thinly at anyone who caught his eye and trying not to jump every time someone slammed a locker shut.

It still made him jump, like a thunder clap, a gunshot, and he tightened his hand around his glove, suddenly longing for Kurt's easy company, before coming to a halt in front of a large, unoccupied room.

For a moment, he was utterly frozen, staring at the Warbler's Hall.  Little had changed in five years: the worn sofas were the same, the long table at the front of the room remained well-tended, and only the absence of Warbler uniforms draped over the backs of chairs marked anything out of place.  Everything else was perfect.  His heart, already aching with longing, seemed to swell at the sight.  Of their own accord, his feet carried him into the room, the door sliding halfway shut behind him.

He didn't know what he was doing, but the tension in his shoulders eased the moment he took a seat on the piano bench.  Reaching out, he carefully slid the cover back and stared at the keys, momentarily speechless at the sight.

Then, tentatively, he pressed a key.  When no remonstrance at the disturbance seemed forthcoming, he relaxed, walking through a series of scales as he let his mind unwind.

Settling into a more definitive rhythm, he closed his eyes before looking down and tapping out a more familiar rhythm.  A tiny smile crossed his lips as the melody emerged, eyes closing as he played.

_I walked across_

_An empty land_

_I knew the pathway like the back of my hand_

_Is this the place_

_We used to love?_

_Is this the place_

_That I've been dreaming of?_

"Oh simple thing," he called, unable to stay silent as the music swelled, "where have you gone?  I'm getting old and I need something to rely on.

"So tell me when -- you're gonna let me in.  I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin."

He sang until his voice cracked, his fingers keeping up their simple rhythm as he closed his eyes and played the song that had captured his imagination -- and taken Kurt's breath away -- so long ago.

"And if we have a minute, why don't we go," he sang softly, "talk about it somewhere only we know?  This could be the end of everything.  So why don't we go -- somewhere only we know."

He let the song carry on long after he stopped singing, let it carry on until the ache in his chest eased, let it carry on until he could finally let it go, his fingers stumbling to a gentle halt, restoring silence in the hall once more.

And looking around, he realized -- for the first time, it seemed, since arrival -- why he had come.

The doors were open, but the Warbler's weren't coming back.  The notes were the same, but the song wasn't.  The atmosphere hadn't changed, but he had.

No longer was his name familiar among the Warblers; the newest group wouldn't even recognize him.  He couldn't return to sing solos with them because he wasn't needed, and he had grown beyond the role, besides.  He knew this place, but like a student returning to an old classroom, he saw that the markings on the board were no longer meaningless to him, and that only letting his need to go back impede him from going forward.

But a small, selfish part of him had wanted to come back and be embraced again by the same people that had made him smile when the world had been falling apart.

Looking around, though, he realized that their traces hadn't been erased.  The worn fabric, the cozy arrangement, even the well-used gavel on the center table all suggested generations of Warblers, before and after.  Even the piano itself bore the markings of a long history of love -- its keys were wearing and the bench bore faint impressions that a fresh paint had never tried to erase -- and to Blaine, was more beautiful for them.

It was still home to him, the doors open, the gates unlocked.

Even if he wasn't a part of its current chapter, he would always be a claim of its legacy.

Feeling solemn and worn and craving a long hug to erase the lingering sadness, he rose from the bench and departed, feeling older than he had in years -- older, and only better, hours later, safely ensconced in Kurt's warm, unfailing embrace.

I'm never saying goodbye to you, he didn't say, but Blaine pressed his cheek against his shoulder and heard it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
